


Words

by sirnando



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirnando/pseuds/sirnando
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cristiano doesn't like talking. James doesn't seem to mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> basically I love crismes and have major issues

Cristiano didn't talk to many people.

Actually when he came to think of it, he talked to no one.

Not out of rudeness or anger or self centeredness, he just didn't know how to start a conversation.

His mom used to yell at him for being so quiet, tell him he needs to speak up, make friends, stop being scared. But she didn't get it: he wasn't scared. He just couldn't dig the words up from his throat. None of them seemed right. And if he did try; well weird things came out. Weird things he didn't want to list off.

It was ironic then (or so his siblings said) that he'd made it so far in football, to such a big club. Had so much success. 

"It's all communication. You can't even say hi." His sisters would complain but he shrugged them off.

That was a different communication, a necessary one. He couldn't get anywhere without yelling 'here'. But in real life;

"It's not necessary. I don't have to make friends." And they laughed him off, but he continually refused (or so he claimed to himself).

~

Since he was such a fantastic player, he was never corrected (not to be cocky of course). The times where his teammates would suggest criticism, he'd nod or smile in understanding and fix it. No one had to tell him twice. 

Outside of that? He was alone. Well, his two dogs who were very good company anyways.

Bus rides were no issues either. He'd plug his headphones in, blare it as much as possible. No one bothered him, he told them at the beginning he needed to get focused. So that's how he continually lived his life. Quiet and alone. But then someone decided to screw his plans up.

~

The first time James had sat next to Cristiano on the bus, Cris thought it must've been a mistake. He was new after all, didn't know many of the players yet. And Cristiano sat relatively far, alone. It was fine, he'd done that when he was new too (and now but-).

He didn't offer a hi, he'd said hi when he first came he didn't think it was necessary now. 

James fidgeted in his seat, supposedly forgot his own music at the stadium's locker. He'd have bitten his nails but they were filed nicely so he didn't have the heart to. Cristiano still offered no response. A silent guy among a crowd of overly-exuberant ones.

He didn't mean to stare creepily, he was just wondering why this guy never talked. But Cristiano felt his eyes pasted to him and started squirming himself. What was his issue?

So he turned to face James who smiled politely, not knowing what to expect (or what he wanted really), and Cris opened his mouth. His throat was dry, he hated these moments.

"You know my mom says that if I don't stop listening to music so loud I'll go dead and that'll fuck my career up for sure!" He yelled over the music (and everyone else's voice).

James laughed heartily. And decided to sit there on the way back.

~

He taped his mouth shut on the way back (literally) because he didn't want to talk. Or he actually didn't want to make himself sound like a fool.

It was odd though, that James sat by him again. Usually when he burst out with something like that the person would smile weakly and never look back.

He scanned the bus, there were open seats. So if must've been his own decision to sit there. His own decision?

"You played well." James offered before getting off, and Cristiano nodded nicely without taking his headphones off. He had no idea what he had said. But nodding was always safe.

~

James sprouted a little. Talked a little more, laughed a little more. All of this without Cristiano around of course, but not that he was surprised.

Good for the kid, he claimed. He should have friends and talk since he's 'one of those' who knows how to start conversations.

He didn't want to use the word 'ignore' (in his personal internal conversations) because it seemed slightly rude. James didn't ignore him, they didn't have a strong enough relationship for that to be realistic. So he settled on saying that James did not mingle with him outside of the bus. And on the pitch but those never counted. Only on the bus did they have minimal interaction.

Interaction was the right word, Cristiano was proud of that one. Because usually it consisted of smiles and nods so 'talking' was a foolish thing to label it as.

~

He hadn't counted or anything, but they'd shared a total of 35 words the fourth time James sat next to him. These four times included ride there and back each.

It was much more that he'd ever said before which was quite an accomplishment.

He didn't think it was necessary to restate the fact that 26 of the words were taken up by his foolish outburst the first time, and the other consisted of James and his four 'hi-bye' rituals.

At least he'd said something, damn.

~

He wasn't having a drought, he was just having a hard time getting a ball into a net. After five games he entered a state of panic, but not a detectable one. He hated being the center of any attention. Indirect attention was ok, direct he couldn't handle.

But then during his sixth game, the one where he knew he had to score because he'd go insane with a seventh game miss, James popped out of the blue (or green in that instance) and passed him the ball which inevitably resulted in his name on the scoreboard.

"Celebrate!" James yelled from across the field and slammed into his chest.

36 words.

~

He managed to scrape out a "thank you" off his tongue without allowing it to regurgitate anything else on his mind. It took an immense amount of effort. Was even followed by a "Thank you did you kno-" but he slapped his hand onto his mouth before anything happened. It was the least he could do.

"Hey, glad to help." And James did one of those knee grabbing slaps that Cristiano had only seen done before.

It was a new experience (and he tended to stray away from new) but he couldn't say it was a bad one.

~

James became two things to him the following weeks. Technically, he'd already been his bus buddy so maybe that didn't count, but he'd become his number one assistant. In the goal sense of course.

The seventh, eighth, ninth, even tenth match following his drought, James never failed him. Appeared out of nowhere (since he was relatively tiny and hard to spot, Cris noted) and passed flawlessly. And Cris scored flawlessly each time. It became natural.

It also became the norm for him to run to the nearest corner with arms wide waiting for James' tiny head to plaster itself into his neck. And when it didn't (because the others had started running to him now, unlike before) he was certain to rummage through the bodies and pull his head into its place. He wasn't sure why really, but something felt empty if it didn't happen.

~

They'd reached about 88 words after around two months of sitting together. Cristiano hasn't contributed to very much of that count, but he didn't beat himself up for it. James was more talkative anyways.

He'd slipped into a comfortable position of listening (ironic) until James decided to break it.

"Ya know, we've been scoring orgasmic goals as a pair and sitting here, but we barely know one another."

Cristiano pulled one earphone out (as had become the tradition because found himself actually caring about what James had to say, contrarily to people before). He nodded in response. James was likable, but not to the extent that he'd talk freely.

"Well then," he fiddle with his thumbs and looked at the blurred trees out the window. "A lot of people don't know this, so consider yourself special, but my actual childhood dream was becoming a marine biologist." He shrugged shyly and smiled, expecting something in return.

Cristiano opened his mouth, still unsure on what was planning to tumble out, but his throat dried up again and this time even nonsense didn't escape him.

James waited a few more seconds, looking to him who was exercising the muscles in his mouth evidently, and smiled crookedly. "Maybe another time then." And he turned away.

Cristiano screamed "Sorry" in his head.

~

They still didn't have an interaction outside of the bus and the pitch (which counted now). Well, in some instances James would search out Cristiano's eyes in the locker room and stare for a few seconds before smiling and ripping away. But Cris didn't really think it was big? No one else did it, but no one else talked to him either, so maybe it was James' way of reassuring him that he hadn't forgotten his existence. Nice of him, actually.

After the talk, or lack of talk, James didn't make eye contact. In the second instant Cristiano panicked and tried finding them himself, but James never looked his way for him to have a chance. Not that he relied on him, but he didn't want James to forget the existence. It was- enjoyable? Refreshing? (He'd have to find a word later) to have someone actually take notice.

So before walking out on the pitch, Cristiano tapped James on the shoulder, who was in the middle of conversation with Marcelo, and said (eyes wide open); "My dream was always to be a footballer even though my siblings laughed at me because I never talk. They called me something once but I don't remember right now. It might be the stress but then again I don't know if I'm stressed. You're there so-" he slapped his hand onto his mouth because he'd started babbling, started being weird again. Walked all the way to the end of the line where he always was before he could embarrass James further.

James took his hand slap in a different way.

~

He'd forgiven him though. Or at least Cristiano assumed (which his mother had told him to never do because it was usually wrong anyways) it did because that games James passed to him a total of 5 times and of those 5, 3 became goals.

After the third goal the whole team found itself plastered into him, except for Iker of course. Cristiano smiled earnestly at all of them and high-fived/thank-you'd more than he'd ever before. James was stuck in his neck the whole time, last one to leave when the group dissipated.

He'd felt something wet on his neck after everyone was gone, and he assumed that it must've been sweat (his mother was right as always).

~

It was James who ran over with the match ball after everything had ended, since he was the last touch.

"Your prize." He smiled and handed it over. Cristiano reached out for it, grazed James' fingers and turned red. He didn't remember being hot before, he'd drank plenty of water after the game. So he didn't answer-

"Well technically the goal scorer owes a lot of it to the person who assisted since it wouldn't be there without them. Technically it couldn't be there without a lot of people. If the ref never put it in that specific place then we'd all be screwed because the turn of events would change. And the way the ball was made would have an effect as-" Just kidding. He answered. But James stopped him with a squeeze on his arm.

"I'll take that as a thanks." And his eyes glowed so bright Cristiano had to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from this peculiar heat.

~

After that Cris made his own effort to have as many eye contact moments in the locker room as possible. He felt that he owed it to James, since he'd understood him that time. No one ever did before. They just assumed wrong things and ran off.

James took them gladly (or he seemed to anyways) smiled fully each time, nodded in some instances. And Cristiano felt lighter. Didn't know why. He'd weighed himself and nothing had changed, which was off but he didn't mind the lighter feeling.

He also made a personal decision; since James was so nice to him and made an effort, it was only natural for him to make one as well. Talk more that is. Normally. Not babble. It shouldn't have been that hard.

~

The next time on the bus, James fidgeted more.

"You're nervous?" He knew technically, but it was proper to ask instead of jumping to conclusions.

"Yeah," James bit his lip but still managed to smile somehow.

"Why?"

"Barcelona. First time." He shrugged shyly again and Cristiano nodded as if he knew what he meant. He had no more words to share, though he frantically racked his brain for relevant ones.

But he settled on doing his own knee squeeze. It ended up being much to high for normal and lasted too long, then again James never objected.

~

They won that one. James had scored, Cristiano had passed.

And that time James stood in the corner and waited for Cristiano to jump into his arms (which he did, without thinking twice which was surprising since he usually worried he was too heavy for James to handle). He was obviously taller, but he'd forgotten and so his measurements turned out screwy.

They were covered by Sergio's jumping body when it happened, luckily really because Cristiano hated controversy too. But when he slid down to the ground he might've accidentally slipped his lips over James' and left them there for a few seconds more than deemed normal, but then again James was used to it.

When he finally did slid off completely a "Whoa." Escaped him and James burst out in laughter. He didn't say anything more though, ran off to his original position.

~

Cristiano kept both his headphones out on the drive back.

James was no longer fidgety (maybe a little but not for the same reasons anymore).

"You know," James turned to Cristiano, surprised he had started the conversation. "I'm sure as fuck glad you gave up on biology" And James burst out in laughter, rested his head in the usual Cristiano neck position.

Cristiano stopped counting the words from that day on, there were too many.


End file.
